There Must be an Angel With a Smile
by Sherlollylover
Summary: Molly Hooper has seen this face before he waltzes into her morgue. A bit of Teen!lock and present day Sherlolly.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note:** Hello there. So, this is my first fic up on and well I hope you enjoy it. First things first go turn on James Blunt's "You're Beautiful" because that is what inspired this fic.

Shout out to the lovely Broomclosetkink and mylovelyittlemindpalace for beta'ing for me.

Also, to the very lovely Orangesherbert06.

If you want to read some very awesome fics go and check them out.

Without further ado...

* * *

Molly Hooper walked quickly through the tube station. She had woken up quite late that morning and scolded herself for a simple moment of indulging her sleepy self in another fifteen minutes of rest.

_Move it Hooper, _she chanted internally. She was going to be late for class if she missed this train. She couldn't afford it. Well, maybe she could, but she wasn't about to let her attendance suffer. She booted it through the stalls and towards the platform just as the train pulled in. _Thank god_. She shuffled in with the rest of the crowd slowly pushing her way towards an empty seat so she could at least have breakfast. A simple granola bar would have to do.

"Molly?" She looked up, her granola bar half forgotten and sticking out of her mouth.

"Thomas?" She smiled, thinking she must have looked silly and took the bar from her mouth, and stuck it back in the wrapping.

"Well, someone looks in a hurry this morning." He smiled down at her, the smile touching his eyes and giving the blue in them a sparkle. _Charming bastard._

"Yeah, slept in a bit. I just didn't want to get up." She looked up at him and his unruly blonde curls.

"It's cold today isn't it?"

_Can't you go away?_ She thought as he continued on to some other story. Yes, she thought he was handsome, but too nice and very dull. He never spoke about anything interesting.

She looked away from him pretending to listen and her heart leaped up into her throat. A man, more a boy, almost her age was staring at her across the carriage. His dark curls were tucked under a hood and his blue eyes were searing her skin and staring right into her soul. The boy's face held a stature that spoke of intelligence. His high cheek bones and pale skin made him look ethereal. All angles. She imagined if he stood up he would be very tall with lean wiry muscles. Molly smiled at him, hoping…..until looking closer she saw his eyes were blood shot, and his hands shaking a bit. Fidgety for the most part.

_Was he….high?_ Molly's smile faded into a grimaced, saddened by the thought, but she knew too much for her own good. She hated seeing symptoms in people. It unfortunately came along with the career she wanted to pursue. Quickly, Molly turned away not wanting to see him anymore. Her heart aching. He was so beautiful, what a waste.

Thomas continued to chatter away in her ear as she looked out the carriage window.

* * *

Sherlock boarded the train quickly, trying not to look at anyone. He would start deducing and his mind would race, and never shut up and he would have to take another hit.

Inside, he knew he couldn't do it anymore. They took more of a toll on his body than just helping him shut off his mind. He didn't know how much longer he could last before he would take too much.

He shoved the hood roughly over his dark curls and sat down in one corner of the carriage as the train took off. Sherlock gave himself one indulgence. He saw her. A simple girl, he could read all he needed from her face without even having to start up his mind.

_Simple, intelligent, kind, loyal._ Her flushed face spoke volumes of what she held inside. _Student. My age. Goes to public school not far from mine._

Then she caught him staring.

_No, no ,no! Why had she looked? She wasn't supposed to._

Her hair had been resting on her shoulder and now it flicked back as she turned to face him. It was auburn with natural highlights, brightening her look. Her large, brown eyes were set on his face, examining him as if she could deduce his heart. She smiled, her lips turning up more on one side than the other. The girl was obviously bored with her boyfriend…not her boyfriend. They were too far apart and he looked like he was trying to hard to get her attention to and laughing at his own jokes.  
Sherlock's heart ached.

Sentiment.

_Father always said….._

_Damn Father. He was never there's for them anyway what did it matter what he told them_.

He saw her smile fade.

He knew she had seen right through him. His body was shaking, fingers fidgeting with the ends of his sweater, bloodshot eyes.

Sherlock wished he could have just….what? What did he wish he could do? She looked disgusted by him now.

In all probability, he would never see her again. They would never meet. Never. He would never get to see if those lips were as soft as they looked. Never get to gaze into her doe eyes, which looked horrified if not frightened.

The girl looked away, stealing glances every now and then.

Her stop came and she stood up and walked towards the door, trying to beat the rush.

Sherlock followed her out. Her companion was still annoyingly chatting away as she listened silently. Sherlock looked down the length of her body, taking in her uniform and soft curves.

What was he doing? He knew better.

Sherlock ducked behind a post as she looked back. He stayed there for a good five minutes. Letting her go. Letting any trace of her step be erased by the throng of travelers. And most of all, from his mind.

* * *

**10 years later**

"Honestly, Lestrade are you that out of your depths? I won't work with anyone else and especially not Anderson or a new pathologist," Sherlock complained as he followed D.I Lestrade into 's morgue.

The double gray doors swung idly behind him .His heart almost flew out of his chest. His throat closed at the sight. Surely the cosmos was laughing at him. Someone thought it a great cosmic joke to have his heart beat again, so wildly after years of training himself to suppress his heart and any emotion. He had given it up that day in the Tube station. Stupid. He had pined over a girl he had only seen at a distance, for a moment, a whole five minutes. He had spent the next couple of months searching for her face on the train.

"Sherlock this is St. Bart's newest recruit. Molly, this is Sherlock Holmes. He consults with us."

Sherlock showed no signs of his inner distress. Molly looked up from her paper work, with her smile. Not so one sided anymore. The big brown eyes were the same and the soft looking pale pink lips.

Molly finished scribbling her notes as she heard Greg introduce a man named Sherlock. Looking up, she smiled wholeheartedly, until she saw the man's face. It was a face that had haunted her. A face she sometimes saw in her dreams. She thought him to be a figment of her imagination all these years.

"Hello." She stuck out a hand towards him, swallowing hard, her heart beating fast.

He watched as Molly stuck out a hand. His mind raced. _What should I do?_ He couldn't grasp her hand. He felt as if his hands were shaking again and his core was going into melt down mode.

"Yes, a pleasure. Now, can I see the Davis body?" he walked past her quickly, each step a pinprick in his chest.

Molly retracted her hand as Sherlock walked by her without so much as a glance had her outstretched hand.

"Yes, I suppose." She looked down at her shoes for a moment, gathering herself.

"Well, I have to go, keep an eyes on this one, Molly, makes more trouble that he's worth. Give him five or ten minutes with the body." Lestrade said, one hand on the door.

"Five is ample."

Molly turned round and plastered a smile onto her face. "One minute. I just need to get the keys." She excused herself from the room, making sure the keys that were already in her pocket didn't jingle, she hid in her office for a moment.

He couldn't be the same boy she had seen all those years ago. Could he? He was taller now and more muscular, hair more refined, still curly. The same cheekbones and all knowing eyes. There were no signs of drug use now. She wanted to cry, her heart drowning in realization.

Sherlock looked bored as Molly excused herself to retrieve keys that she already had in her pocket. He gazed intently at a sign on the wall as she walked by.

She remembered him perhaps. His heart pounded in her ears. She couldn't have. No one had a memory like his. Despite his ability to delete things, he hadn't been able to delete her face.

She was the reason he kicked the drugs. The utter disgust that she had worn on her face when she had seen him.

He heard her heels clicking back towards him. She walked past again, smelling of…..lavender….and unlocked the drawer containing the stiff. He busied himself with making his deductions on the body.

"Cause of death?" he asked.

His voice was deep and his words cut when he spoke sharply.

"Asphyxiation," she answered promptly, standing back from the table with her hands in her pocket.

"Obviously, you missed the poison." He looked up at her, his steely blue eyes cutting deeper than his words. "Stupid." he muttered under his breath.

"T-Toxicology isn't back, yet. Erm…."

She stuttered with fright. He supposed this had been his desired effect. Molly couldn't know and never would. He had set his mind long ago. He didn't have time to cloud his mind with the sheer amount of cases that Lestrade let him have.

Removing his gaze from the body, he unconsciously looked into her eyes. "Text me the report results."

She looked into his eyes once more. The omniscient blue-green bearing down on her own. With a flourish of his long dark coat and a demand for the results he exited the morgue and Molly let down a silent tear as she walked towards her office. Inside, she let things sink in. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. He would be in here all the time consulting with Lestrade or NSY. Molly thought it would be best to forget she had ever seen that boy on the train. Maybe, she had mistaken him. It could have been and curly haired boy. Who knew where Sherlock had grown up, right? Molly put her head in her hands and rested her arms on her desk.

Outside, Sherlock took a drag of his cigarette. He busied his mind with deleting the event. It would be unwise seeing as he would have to spend so much time here. It would take longer than usual to delete it. He had been holding onto it for years. _Better start now_. He took one last drag and dropped the cigarette to the ground, stepped on it for a quick moment before flipping up his collar and walking down the street quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

A:N: Hello, here is the long awaited next chapter. I originally hadn't planned for the fic to be this long,but now i have a plan. *evil laugh* Sorry, if it is a bit shorter, but this is a bit of a filler chapter. Soon my pretties more things will happen. Also, this chapter didn't have a beta. If I get a chance to have that done I will edit it and until then think of all the little mistakes as a sign of your bright mind. :)

A quick thank you to all those who reviewed.

* * *

Molly sat quietly before her microscope, writing down results as she found them, when she was startled by the doors to the lab swinging open loudly. She looked up and saw Sherlock whipping off his coat and throwing it onto the back of a chair. He proceeded to undo his scarf and lay it on top.

"You didn't text me the results." He said, venom staining his deep voice.

"I-I –uh, I didn't have your number."

"Impossible, it is up on my website." He began shifting things around in a cupboard.

"Sorry, your website?"

"Yes, I assumed you searched me online."

Molly's jaw dropped; of course she had searched him up. She couldn't sleep last night and he wouldn't leave her mind. When she did fall under, flashes of his blue-green eyes would have her sitting straight up in her bed, huffing out breaths.

"Maybe, I'm busy, you know." Molly looked back at her scope.

"Or maybe you were on my site this morning at approximately half past two."

Molly's stomach sank.

"How would you- how could you know that?" She glanced up at him, her bottom lip trembling.

"I don't sleep often and I was updating my blog, checking for cases. Nothing new, or interesting. Can I have the results now or do you plan on hindering an investigation?" Sherlock raised a brow in her direction.

Molly scrambled to get up and go to her office, biting her lip, hard.

-X-

Sherlock observed how her words faltered and how she had intently watched him slip off his coat. Of course she had been on his website. He hoped she would come, maybe see his work and perhaps be interested by…. She needn't come to his blog for more than to retrieve his number. Idiot, she couldn't even do that much.

No, she was distracted. Perhaps, she remembered. Maybe, after all these years she had remembered him as much as Sherlock remembered her face on the opposite side of the carriage, beaming at him.

_Stop it. Now. _Sherlock chided himself.

He had spent his night in his flat, sitting in his leather chair, picking though his mind palace. He walked into the small corner the event occupied in his mind. He opened the door and ripped the file from its shelf. Sherlock opened it for a brief second, looking at her smiling face once before tearing the file in half and once more and throwing it into a rubbish bin. He had tried to go to bed soon after and when his eyes closed, the file seemed to come to life, slowly piecing itself together and reinstating its presence. He let the scene play again in his mind, then he shut it in behind the door from where it came and tried to bury it in the depths of his mind.

"Mr. Holmes." She said formally. He looked down at the pathologist.

"Sherlock, Mister Holmes is my brother." He took the file from her hands and opened it glancing over the details; he occasionally lifted his eyes to catch her expression.

"You were right." She said after some time.

"Of course, I was." He shoved the file back at her. "You will need to move your slides." He demanded. Sherlock saw multiple emotions wash over her face.

"There are five others. You could use those."

"I only use that one. I need it." He said pulling a slide from his pocket.

Sherlock could see the defeat in her eyes as she turned to remove her slide and place them closer to the next microscope over. He shot her a smile, but she only grimaced and walked over to her slides, sitting down and examining them.

-X-

Molly hated him for being so…so…demanding. It was her morgue. She could see why no one else wanted to work with him. It was fine, she supposed. Taking one for the team and all, right?

She was conscious of him from the corner of her eye. His curly hair flopped down to cover his eyes a bit. He needed a haircut. Soon, Molly was lost in thought.

"_You know Molly, you shouldn't worry about him." Thomas stuffed his face with apple slices._

"_He just looked…" _

"_Like he was high, yeah you said. Why do you care?" His voice was muffled by the food in his mouth._

"_I don't know. Besides looking like that, he seemed as if…" Molly let her voice trail off. He looked like held the world in his eyes, everything and anything you ever wanted to see, you could get lost in them._

"_I think I've seen him before."_

"_Probably coming out of some alley way." _

"_Thomas. He had on a school uniform. He isn't homeless. He goes to a really posh school from what I could tell."_

"_Spoiled brat."_

"_And you're the picture of grace." Molly shoved her book roughly into her bag and began walking away from Thomas. He was so annoying and she was too nice._

"_Molly?!" He called after her, scrambling to gather his things. She didn't answer; her mind was stuck on someone else. _

"Doctor Hooper. Doctor Hooper!" She heard his baritone voice call.

Molly shook her head. "Sorry, yes."

"Your daydreaming has ruined one of your samples." He said gesturing towards the broken glass Molly saw on the floor.

-X-

Sherlock looked down at her, watching Molly scramble to clean the mess. He turned to bend over his microscope again, pulling his eyes away from her.

"Damn it." He heard her curse under her breath.

"There was nothing of consequence in that slide. It would be frivolous to worry." Sherlock switched his slides carefully. He heard the glass hit the bottom of the rubbish bin and her heels click towards him.

"And how do you know?" Molly asked with a stern voice.

Sherlock smiled to himself. "There is nothing unusual about any of your slides. If you were looking for something interesting, these would be a better bet." Sherlock gestured for Molly to look into his microscope.

She looked at him nervously for a moment.

_Biting lip. Pupils dilated. Flushed cheek. Attraction. _

Sherlock moved his thoughts away again, waiting for her reaction. He observed how she maneuvered herself so that she would be as far away as she could be from him. A scent wafted towards him

_Lavender. Shampoo? No, stronger. Perfume._

"I-uh-I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking at." She said pulling back.

"New species of mould. Much more interesting than the boring liver cells of an alcoholic."

Her brown eyes were wide. "What?" She said in disbelief.

Sherlock simpered. "Mr. Jameson was an alcoholic."

He watched as Molly opened and closed her mouth for a moment. "How did you-without even-I-you…"

"Deductive reasoning." Sherlock left his answer short and returned his gaze to his samples.

"And what does that mean?" He could hear the frustration oozing from her voice.

"Logical inferences made from small details. You can easily see through a person if you chose. Take you for example." Sherlock turned on the stool to face her. He took a slow glance up and down her body.

"Toasted sandwich from lunch, cheese toasty? You tried to paint your nails last night, but gave up as your hand was shaking too much for you to be happy with how it looked. You may want to hold back on the wine Molly." Sherlock was pleased until he saw her face.

_Not impressed. Angry. Flushed cheeks. This time it means embarrassment. _

Sherlock's brows furrowed. "Was I right?"

"Yea, just brilliant." He watched as she turned on her heel and off towards her office.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. Life and all. Plus, I'm not sure I'm entirely with the chapter. I've been tweaking it and things. No beta, so think of the mistakes as a sign of your sharp minds.**

**I will try and have chapter four up soon.**

* * *

Molly spent some time in daze. She worked mechanically before cleaning up and going home for the night.

Sherlock was just so...

Molly let out a heavy sigh. No matter what bile was spewing from his lip his eyes still held the world and no single discernible colour, sometimes green or blue, gray or somewhere in between.

But that was beside the point. He walked around like he owned everything and didn't know the effect of what was coming out of his mouth. Yet, Molly was intrigued by him, despite his flaws. Maybe if she told him. Maybe he would remember?

She wanted to laugh. A man that deleted anything not of consequence to him wouldn't remember a five minute encounter in the tube. Plus, he had been under the influence. Even if he did, would Sherlock scoff at her for remembering such an idiotic thing from ten years ago?

Molly slid her key into the lock on her flat door. Entering, she dropped her keys into the small basket and toed her shoes off. What she needed was sleep. She'd been awake more than twelve hours and had no sleep last night either. Quickly, she pulled off her clothes and pulled on pajamas and slipped under her covers after a trip to the loo.

* * *

Sometime early in the morning, at some ungodly hour, Molly heard her phone ring.

_Let it go to voice mail._

It did and then began ringing again. She sighed pushing the covers back slightly and reaching for her bedside table.

"Hullo, Doctor Hooper."

"Molly, hiya. It's Greg. Listen, have you heard from Sherlock? It's just that he hasn't been answering and I know he likes spending time down at Bart's. He hasn't pulled anything like this in years."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, it's a bit of a long story."

"Go on."

Lestrade went back several years tell her about how he first met Sherlock. Bright student, keen on proving the police wrong. Then, came the drug abuse. Lestrade didn't go into detail, feeling it was a personal thing and yet, it needed to be said. "I worry about him. He is really great, but he's got a self-destructive streak.

"Oh, Greg." Molly was quiet for a moment. "Well, I haven't seen him since yesterday round six and I left the lab round seven. He's not picking up his phone? Have you checked his flat or whatever?"

"I haven't had the chance and I won't send anyone else from NSY they don't like him very much and he doesn't feel peachy about them either."

"I could go." Molly said before she knew what was coming out of her mouth.

"Oh, bless you Molly Hooper. I'll text you his address in a minute. Thanks again."

"Yeah, no problem. Bye." Molly hung up and threw her head back on her pillow waiting for the address and some sort of strength to get up.

* * *

Sherlock lit up another cigarette and took a deep drag. He blew out another ring of smoke into the already foggy room. He threw his head back on the couch and winced as his muscles cramped. He took another drag and sighed.

In the distance, he heard someone knock on the door and call out his name. Was that her voice? He had been hearing her voice for hours. It was never her. It wouldn't be.

"Sherlock?" He heard her call out, grunting in response and taking the cigarette from his lips.

She coughed entering the room with her nose hidden in the crook of her elbow.

"What are you doing?" Molly said between coughs. She threw open the windows and let the smoke drain.

"It took hours to do that. Why the hell would you open the windows?"

"So I can breathe." The anger was evident in her voice.

"Breathing is boring. I need to think." Sherlock attempted to raise his hand to his lips again, but struggled. His lip curled back and he sat up.

As for what happened next, Molly wished she hadn't been standing so close, he wretched the contents of his stomach in front of her.

"Oh god."

_Pale and weak, throwing up._

He must have had nicotine poisoning. Molly stepped around it and helped to lift him up. Where was the bathroom? There was only a door into what seemed like a bedroom, she dragged him towards it.

"Hang on." She told him throwing the door open and finding another to the bathroom.

Molly tugged him into the room and Sherlock collapsed next to the toilet. Molly left him there and returned with a glass of water. She sat on the edge of the bathtub and held out the glass to him.

"How many packets did you smoke?" As an answer, he threw up again.

"Sherlock answer me." Molly said sternly, trying to work efficiently in doctor mode.

"Two." He groaned as he looked up at her shocked face.

"Right, stay here. I'm going to pop into the chemist and be back. Don't move. And don't smoke."

Sherlock assumed she had waited until his stomach had somewhat settled.

"Can't move. No cigarettes left." He mumbled, throwing his head down on his arm which was draped around the edge of the toilet.

He heard her walked down the hall and then the stairs and the door shut softly.

_What am I doing?_ Molly thought.

She didn't know why she had told Lestrade she would help. Who knew what worse things he was still doing. Nicotine poisoning. Who smoked that much? She at least spoke without a stutter. That was something.

Molly wanted to laugh. Isn't this what she had thought in the split moment on the train? She had wished she could help him, stop him even. And now she knew for sure he was brilliant. She rubbed the temple of her head, walking into the chemist shop.

* * *

Molly slipped off her jacket and left her purse on his bed before heading into the loo.

"Sherlock?" She placed a soft hand on his shoulder which earned her a groan. "Drink this and I suggest you not move from here. You will be needing the toilet." He didn't open his eyes, nor did he respond. "Sherlock?!" Molly shook her head raising his head so that she could press the bottle to his lips. "Drink." She tipped the bottle and kneeled down on the ground next to him, letting him sip at the medicine slowly. Sherlock ripped his head away and shoved it in the toilet bowl. "You need to drink the whole thing." Molly spoke softly. He opened his eyes and was gazing at her.

"What?"

Sherlock wordlessly pushed his head closer to her allowing her to tip the bottle for him. Once, it was finished Molly threw out the bottle and went to address the mess in the living room. Molly grimaced looking down at the mess.

"Oh great." Molly heard a voice say from the doorway.

"Greg?" Molly said with wide eyes.

"What did he do?" Greg made a face at the mess and walked over to Molly, searching for Sherlock with his eyes.

"The room was filled with smoke. He said he went through two packs and now he's got nicotine poisoning."

"Shit." Lestrade spat.

"He'll be fine. He just can't work any cases for a while."

"Good thing I called a doctor then isn't it? Thank you." Greg gave Molly a squeeze on the shoulder.

"Yea, no problem. He's in the loo if you want to go and..."

Lestrade nodded and walked off.

Molly went into the kitchen stopping to notice the experiment filled table before finding a mop and some cleaning supplies, setting to work.

A couple of minutes later, Greg came out with lines making deep groves in his forehead.

"Uhm, so I've cleaned it best I can and I suppose he'll be fine with you here. I'll just go." She ripped the yellow gloves off her hands and threw them into the garbage bag she had sitting next to the coffee table.

"Yes he will." A voice spoke from behind Greg.

"Sherlock?" Molly said looking up at him leaning on the door frame.

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Oi." Lestrade said in a warning tone.

"I'm quite well, as you can see. No need to worry. Both of you can leave. I would have been fine anyway." Sherlock stood up straight, pulling at his collar and buttoning his shirt.

"You could have…." Molly let her sentence trail. She could fel the laughter rising again. "I was leaving anyway." She left the garbage bag where it sat and didn't bother putting on her jacket as she rushed down the stairs and shut the door loudly.

* * *

As soon as Lestrade had left, Sherlock threw himself into his bed, ripping off his soiled shirt and trousers. His hands curled into fists as he thought.

_Why? Why was it __**her**__ that Lestrade sent for? _

Sherlock felt the need for another pack and as he looked to his drawer filled with them, but then his stomach twisted and Sherlock curled in on himself. He took several heavy breaths and closed his eyes, retreating into his mind palace.

He walked along the corridor and opened the locked door labeled with her name. He pulled the file from today out of his pocket and stared at it. He sat down at the table and indulged himself. Sherlock could almost smell her and feel her hand on his shoulder, smoothing away his hair and her hand around his waist, letting him lean against her warm body. He felt a pang of guilt and immediately shut the folder, storming from the room and waking up in a cold sweat.


End file.
